


Second Hand Ticking

by wefellasangels



Series: The 'Like Clockwork' Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression CW, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, anxiety cw, mental health cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:04:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wefellasangels/pseuds/wefellasangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Crowley's help, you're gradually getting better at coping with difficult situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Hand Ticking

**Author's Note:**

> a sequel of sorts to Like Clockwork, suggested by @crowleylover

If it wasn’t for the sound of blood steadily beating in your ears, you would have sworn that you had just gone deaf.

There are hundreds upon hundreds of people in the music hall, chatting and laughing loudly. The musicians on stage are tuning their instruments and practicing their pieces, harmonies and melodies clashing with one another. As it draws closer to show time, the cacophony swells and rages into mind-numbing white noise.

But you can’t hear any of it. At least not over the pounding of your pulse in your head.

You sit on the floor in front of your seat with your knees drawn up to your chest. Every thirty seconds or so, someone almost trips over you as they make their way down the row. Yeah, of course you know…just sitting back in your seat would be more convenient and less dangerous for everyone involved. But then you would be more visible. And that thought in itself is enough to keep you planted right there on the floor.

Ten minutes until show time and both audience and instrumentalists are settling into their places - and Crowley still isn’t back. And to think, everything had been going fine…

_“Enjoying yourself so far, darling?”_

_You tore your eyes away from the stage and faced Crowley, who sat in the seat to your right, a small smile forming on your lips._

_“So far, so good,” you assured him. “I like this. I like us…actually going out and doing something for a change. Not being in that apartment all the time.”_

_“It is a nice apartment, though,” Crowley teased, a suggestive glint in his eyes. No doubt he was thinking about his top ten favorite nights in that apartment with you - all of them involving almost no lighting and even less clothes._

_Unfortunately, your mind automatically went to your top ten least favorite nights - all of them lacking Crowley’s presence and including an onslaught of night terrors, pills, and battles with the blade…some won, some lost._

_“Yeah, it is a nice apartment,” you replied softly. “But only when there’s someone to share it with.”_

_You were sure Crowley could see the pain in your eyes even if it was masked in your voice, because then he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him, gently placing a kiss on your temple._

_“I know,” he said, regret drenching his words. “I know and I am truly sorry. But things are approaching normal again…Hell is running smoothly; the Winchesters are no a longer preoccupation of mine; it can just be us.”_

_Arm still around you, Crowley traced circles on your shoulder with his thumb as the two of you watched the orchestra finish setting up on stage._

_“Well…I’ll be the son of a whore,” Crowley muttered suddenly, his eyes fixed on a far-off point. You turned to look at him and then followed his gaze across the hall. Near the right side of the stage, a man was speaking to the conductor._

_“What’s wrong?” You asked. “Do you know one of them?”_

_Before you got an answer, Crowley stood up from his seat, mumbling under his breath as he smoothed out his suit._

_“…dare he thought the bloody King of Hell would never catch up with him - the bloody_ nerve _…”_

_“Hey, hold on, where are you going?” You demanded. The show was going to start in less than fifteen minutes and he wanted to deal with a backstabbing client_ now _?_

_“I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘hellhound’, darling,” Crowley said, leaning down to give you another kiss before leaving. You watched him go, noticing that the man speaking with the conductor was no longer in sight and within a minute, neither was your date. As soon as Crowley was out of your field of vision, an overwhelming sense of isolation and vulnerability took hold of you._

_Suddenly, conversations whispered behind cupped hands were becoming criticisms regarding your who-knows-what and were accentuated by deep-bellied laughs. The musicians on stage slowly turned into spectators of the crowd below them, an observation spotlight shining on you in particular because_ well, well, well _every single move you made was to be noticed and scrutinized and judged and they could see_ EV. ERY. THING _and it was to be documented and reviewed later for further speculation._

_It was a faceless orchestra and a faceless crowd, but the eyes -_ oh, the eyes _\- were fixed on you, tracing their gazes over your skin and under your clothes. And so you decided to melt through your seat and settle into a small puddle of adrenaline and perspiration on the floor where you are -_

Now. Now you take a deep breath and it doesn’t help much because there is a jackhammer in your chest that, apparently, thinks it doesn’t need oxygen to function.

Distraction, you think to yourself in between the beats in your head. I need a distraction.

Bringing your arm in front of you, you push back your sleeve and look at your watch. It’s too dark to properly read the time, but you can see the second hand clearly, a milky-white arrow floating against a black surface. For about a minute, you watch it make its way around the clock and on its second round, you close your eyes and bring the watch up to your ear and listen. You try to hear each tick of the small clock and focus, letting the sound resonate in your mind. Within a few moments, you can feel your pulse slowing, attempting to match pace with the second hand.

“Excuse me,” a women says as she steps over you. It’s a brief interruption in your newfound calm, but it’s enough to spike your heart rate right back up, the pounding in your head rushing back with renewed violence.

You begin to hyperventilate, each intake of breath getting caught in your throat. In a second of clarity, you say the word “hellhounds” on a weak current of air.

A split-second later, you’re leaning against a wall in a dark corridor, Crowley standing in front of you with his hands on your shoulders.

“Glad you remembered the code word,” he comments, trying to suppress the worry in his voice. He runs his hands up and down your arms soothingly as your heart rate stabilizes. The two of you stare at one another, the calm slowly making its way back into your bloodstream, and you know Crowley can sense it as the concern lining his face gradually melts away. But then you see the apology surfacing in his eyes and can read it on his lips before he even says -

“I’m so-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him. “Please, don’t. You had a thing to take care of - I completely get that and you don’t need to apologize for doing your job.”

Crowley steps closer to you, putting his hands on both sides of your face. “I shouldn’t have left you alone, darling. Not here, of all places.”

“You didn’t,” you say, holding up your wrist with the watch. “ _Thank you_ for this.”

“It helped?”

“Absolutely. I did better than last time. It…actually helped me for a moment there. I mean, it didn’t last long, but it was enough to give me some hope.”

Crowley smiles, pleased to have found at least one thing to help you during your panic attacks.

“That’s wonderful to hear, darling. Progress is progress is progress - always.”

Another kiss, on your forehead this time, and Crowley takes a step back, taking one of your hands in his as he leads you both back to your seats.

As you sit back down, the performance begins. Crowley puts his arm around you once more, his fingers tapping a slow steady beat on your shoulder. The symphony progresses, but Crowley’s tapping remains consistent and strong, never falling out of sync with your heartbeat.


End file.
